Hatchet - Chapter 20
by Jorgie Casey
Summary: A chapter I wrote to finish off the book 'Hatchet' by Gary Paulsen


CHAPTER 20

Talking.

Such a simple thing but to Brian it seemed like a lifetime since he had heard another person's voice.

Sound.

Brian had missed the sound that wasn't just the chattering of birds. Human contact was a thing he had always taken for granted but a simple conversation over a nice warm meal was a wonderful relief to Brian's long mute tongue. The background noise of the forest went into Brian's subconscious mind and he talked with the pilot. That must have been why he didn't notice it.

The sound.

Brian knew the sound. He had heard it before. It had caused him great trouble before. If only the pilot had not been there. Brian might have heard it and had time to prepare. But the pilot chatted away with Brian, asking him questions and enjoying conversation and Brian only noticed the sound at the last second.

The second it became too late.

He panicked as the tornado came into sight. He tried to yell to pilot, to warn him, but months of silence had weakened his voice and the small sound was drowned by the deafening wind.

"Bit blowy today isn't it?" the pilot almost yelled, raising his voice above the drone of the wind. He swallowed another mouthful of his dinner, not knowing what was about to come.

Then it hit.

The wind summoned its strength and grabbed the pilot and his dinner. It played with them, as though mocking how weak they were, before throwing them both hard against the rock wall.

Brian grabbed the hatchet from the ground and tried to run, but the incredible power of the wind carried him into the air and in every direction until he couldn't tell up from down. Suddenly Brian was thrown with all the force the tornado could gather and was hurled into a nearby tree.

The sky went black.

As Brian slowly started to wake the wind was still ringing in his ears. He tried to take in a breath but his dry mouth was full of dust. He choked and coughed until his lungs gratefully received the gift of air. Brian opened his stinging and dusty eyes and let out a relieved sigh to see that the tornado had gone, but he took his breath in again when he realised what was in its place.

The moose.

It was back and staring straight at Brian.

He froze.

Brian knew that if he moved the moose would attack him. But how long could he stay still? How long would it take for the moose to go away?

So Brian just stopped.

He stopped and stood.

Stood and stared.

Waiting, hoping, praying to anyone for the moose to just give up and leave.

Then what Brian had dreaded happened.

His nose began to itch.

Badly.

It itched and itched until the itch became so intense it developed into a sneeze.

Brian could feel the sneeze fighting against his will to escape, and it wasn't going to give up. It was coming and he couldn't stop it.

Brian sneezed.

His heart skipped a beat when he realised what he had done, and what was about to come.

The wind was knocked out of him completely when the moose slammed into him and Brian was knocked back into the tree behind him.

He tried to fill his aching lungs but the blow must have broken some of his ribs and each failed breath caused him to groan with pain.

Brian desperately needed air.

But each breath caused pain.

Each shot of pain caused a groan.

Each groan caused another blow from the angry moose.

Each blow caused more pain and another groan.

Again and again came the moose.

Again and again came the pain.

The pain. The pain. The pain.

No. Brian thought I've come too far to give up now.

He took a deep breath and held in the pain. Brian knew he couldn't outrun the moose. He was in too much pain for a plan like that. He called to the pilot but the only response he got was another strike from the moose and another shot of pain.

Brain slowly turned his head and saw the pilot's limp body lying on the floor. He was about as helpful as Jim or Jake or something now. Brian didn't seem to have a very good effect on pilots.

So he just held in the pain and waited. It seemed to take forever but finally to moose walked away. When Brian was satisfied it had gone, he began his slow journey towards the plane.

He wasn't sure how long it took. Maybe 30 or 45 minutes, an hour at the most, but Brian eventually reached the edge of the lake. He still had the hatchet in his hand as he pulled himself into the plane and crawled towards the radio.

No signal.

It was silly of Brian to believe there might have been one, but then a crackled voice came through the speaker.

"Is anyone there? I hear you. Over"

It was finally over. Brian was finally saved. But there was no answer.

"Hello? I hear you. State your situation. Over"

Brian desperately tried to yell to the man but no matter how many times he tried the man could not hear him.

Brian could not hold in the pain.

It took over and he screamed in agony.

The last sound Brian heard was the moose.

Somewhere in the forest, by a distant tree, it had won.

Brian's last words echoed around the plane as his head drooped.

"The hatchet"

And the hatchet slipped from his hands.


End file.
